


Two Fifteen

by Zarla



Series: Vargas Stories [10]
Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Disjointed Narration, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-30
Updated: 2005-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: Edgar is asleep, and for some reason that reminds Nny of something important. Something he forgot, a long time ago.
Relationships: some Nny/Edgar subtext
Series: Vargas Stories [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/20964
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	Two Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

> I went looking through some of my old files and found this fic I never actually posted for some reason, although I'm not sure why. This would be set somewhere in Vargas (lol what fic do I write isn't), probably somewhere between chapter 16 and 19.

God, there was nothing on.

He didn't want to wake him, so he kept the TV's volume low. The door to Edgar's bedroom was still open though. Edgar had shut it behind him when he went in to sleep, but Johnny didn't like that for reasons that he couldn't place into words, so he went and opened it again later when Edgar was asleep.

He tried to find words for it, for why, but nothing came very easily. It was hard to find the right words around Edgar, like he plucked them out of the air before Johnny even knew they were there. That must have been why he was more eloquent than Johnny was at times, some times, maybe a lot of the time. The words escaped him and the meaning remained, although there was always the question of what conveyed the meaning and how, and he was pretty sure Edgar did it better.

Johnny always had a better grasp of his words, with or without the meaning, away from Edgar, but he didn't know if he liked that, or if it was important.

Never really gave it much thought, how much harder it was to define things around Edgar. How much harder it was for Johnny to define how he felt, to say what he felt easily. Meaning slippery and hard to find, to capture in words and something solid and that Edgar could see and understand.

Things were harder around Edgar sometimes, and that frustrated him and frightened him at the same time. He didn't know why they were harder, and what frightened him was that maybe it would get worse. It hadn't yet, not just yet. Some things were still hard, slipped between his fingers sometimes, but not all of them, and not as many as before. Maybe that's what kept him, or at least a piece of it. It was hard to remember every reason why he stayed, and every reason that he did what he did. Meaning came and went from and with his memories.

Johnny left the bedroom door open, regardless of the heightened risk of Edgar waking up. Maybe it was to make sure he'd know when Edgar woke up. Maybe to make sure that Edgar would wake up and still be himself. Johnny had a suspicion that other people didn't suffer from the same confusion, lack of solidity that he did when he woke up, but he wasn't positive, and he didn't trust it. Logical acceptance of the fact that it couldn't be that way for everyone -- everyone wasn't insane after all -- but it was hard to put that fear to rest, especially about someone who was so important to him. Edgar would appreciate the gesture, he was sure.

Johnny wasn't sure why he had closed the door behind him in the first place. He meant to ask but then he forgot, or something more important happened and then he forgot, which wasn't the same thing, exactly.

Someday, he was sure he'd understand why Edgar did everything that he did. The pieces would fall into place, the light would shine bright and every question would be answered. True understanding, he knew it. That was how it worked. Someday, but not today, apparently.

Someday, because as Edgar had said, he had faith, and Edgar's faith had been put to perhaps the ultimate test and had not failed. To see that Edgar had that faith in him, in such future understanding, was encouraging to say the least. Definite. It helped keep things how they were, and the future what it was supposed to be. Strength, courage, determination. Faith by proximity was more powerful than he thought or thought he'd know. Admiration, envy, connection, reliance.

The door was open, so Johnny kept the volume on the television low. Basic cable, but there were some channels here that he didn't get back at his house. Some of the channels were pretty stupid in an insulting way, and some were pretty stupid in an amusing way, and Johnny kept around the latter.

He heard something loud and short, something rough and it immediately caught his attention. He fumbled on the unfamiliar remote for the mute button, snapped his head to look at the open door. Nothing from here. He waited for the green letters to appear in the corner of the screen before he dropped the remote, and inadvertently the bowl of Sketti-O's he was eating, on the floor and walked over to Edgar's room.

Peered in cautiously, twitched the muscle that rested beneath the knife that was always on him to make sure it was there. Felt the responding weight and knew that with that by him, there was little he had to fear.

He didn't see anything. Neon letters glowing from Edgar's alarm clock, the shine of the moonlight or streetlight on a few reflective items here and there. Window still closed, curtains open.

The faint, high-pitched whine of the television tubes functioning was still audible to Johnny, even from this distance. Even when muted, the sound never stopped. He had asked a few people, but it seemed he was the only one who ever heard that whine. He wasn't sure if it was real.

Fucking reality.

Didn't see anyone in the room, even when his eyes adjusted more fully to the lack of the television's light. He could see Edgar's form on the bed, chest rising and falling slightly. Johnny took a few more cautious steps inside, kept his hand at ready.

There, there it was again. Loud and unexpected and it jolted Johnny right out of his practiced stance and the knife was in his hand, and he didn't even think about putting it there. Turned to the source of the sound and found he was staring at Edgar.

Snoring. He was snoring.

Johnny slipped the knife back in place with a sigh and took silent steps towards Edgar's bed. Figures. Edgar did have a big nose, after all. He assumed that was involved in snoring in some way or another. He didn't know the specifics of how it worked.

He stood inches away from the edge of the bed and the desk where that action figure stood. His attention caught for those few seconds, Johnny stared at the toy and narrowed his eyes. Didn't like that thing, and he never would. Didn't fit. Didn't work. Wasn't him. Didn't fit with what he knew, how Edgar defined himself, and Johnny didn't like having doubts about someone this important to him.

He picked up the toy with one hand, bent one of its arms out of place. A small squeak of protest from the plastic. Edgar stirred a bit in his sleep, snorted and rolled over onto his side. Johnny watched him for a few seconds and then, assuming the danger of being discovered had passed, walked back out of the room, toy in hand.

Wanted somewhere where it wouldn't make any noise, wouldn't be so distracting. Enough of this house made noise without this thing adding to it. God, more thought on his feelings and he wondered if he hated the toy. Hated it for some reason again that he couldn't find. Lost in the air around Edgar's house, unable to be found again. This was Edgar's home, after all, and things were easier for him to find here than for Johnny.

Hated it for where it was? For what it did? The questions it represented? The doubts it raised? Something, parts of it, maybe all, wasn't sure. Nothing that could be pinned down except the thought that he definitely maybe hated this toy, and he wanted to get rid of it for some reason at the moment.

He thought about the bathroom, and remembered the hamper. Perfect. He went inside, felt around in the darkness until he could locate the lid and opened it. Thrust the toy as deep into the damp clothes as possible, and shut the lid.

There, quiet. He'd tell Edgar where he put it later.

He walked back to Edgar's room, to make sure that he hadn't been noticed. Edgar had already rolled back onto his back, and while he wasn't snoring, his breathing as a bit heavier than it was before. A close relative to snoring that, if Johnny ever felt inclined to sleep in the same room as Edgar for some strange reason, was sure to be just as annoying over long periods.

Found himself again by the side of the bed. Edgar had his head tilted to one side, eyes twitching beneath his eyelids. One hand curled above his head and the other resting on his chest. He was breathing evenly, but there was still that noise that was too close to snoring to ever be ignorable or pleasant.

Johnny tilted his head, stared at him a bit more. Edgar didn't move, apparently having settled back to restful sleep. Turned and noticed the window, the light coming through. The moon was in such a position that it was lighting the room rather remarkably...some part of Johnny recognized this, pointed it out to him as important, but he wasn't sure what it was. Notice this, it screamed at him. Notice this, it's important.

Why?

He looked back at Edgar, noticed his shadow over his face. Blocking the light. Johnny took a step to one side, and the light washed over Edgar's face in a way that made him twitch a little, make a kind of snuffling sound and turn his head the other way. Was he drooling? Eww.

He stared and stared for some minutes because something in him told him to, and he stood there growing increasingly frustrated because he wasn't sure why he was doing this, what could have been so important.

It wanted something, his brain wanted him to do something but he wasn't sure what it was. God, was nothing ever easy? Even this had to be fucked up in some way or another, hard to understand.

Clenched his fists, felt his nails pressing into his palms and he stared at him, kept staring. He clenched his muscles harder until his fists shook and he could feel the strain of his body trying to tell him to stop, to let go. He refused for the fact that while that message was clear, it wasn't one he needed to follow.

Stared. The light outside flickered for a second, maybe the curtains moving, and the shift of light was soft and subtle. Glanced off of Edgar's cheekbones, glinted off of his hair. Oily. Edgar needed a shower. Johnny made a note to tell him to take one later.

Light glinted off of Edgar's glasses on the dresser, sank into the fabric pulled loose around his chest and nightshirt. Johnny stopped for a second, paid more attention. He had watched Edgar sleep, or at least checked in on him while he was sleeping, before, but Edgar had never changed his clothes beforehand. He normally slept in the clothes he had worn that day, although that may have been because he often tried to stay awake with Johnny and ended up collapsing from exhaustion. Edgar didn't say it but Johnny could see it. If nothing else he was familiar with what a sleep-deprived person looked like. In a way though, Johnny appreciated the effort Edgar was making, and he didn't want him to stop.

Couldn't really make out the exact color of the nightshirt in the dark, but it seemed light. It had buttons down the front...vaguely formal. Johnny smiled for a few seconds. If Edgar thought he was going to go somewhere tonight, he'd be disappointed. Johnny was making sure he was going to stay where he was.

Light. Some part of him stirred, demanded attention, tried to piece together something that had been broken for so long. Could hear the general incoherent strains of Happy Noodle Boy beginning somewhere, but why he'd feel inspired to draw that thing when Edgar was sleeping was beyond him...

No, deeper than that. He let his fists loosen, and his body thanked him with a surge of relief. No, this was stirring something deeper, something related.

The light, the color, the lines. Soft here, harsher there. Gentle motion, but Edgar wasn't moving too much...didn't look like he'd start. How would someone transfer color through graphite?

Stared for a few seconds, then managed to grab the tail-end of the thought before it left his mind.

That was it, that was what he wanted to do. That was why he was staring. That was it. Rush of accomplishment, of some kind of pride and Johnny left the room.

Came back with that pad of yellow paper and a mechanical pencil. Found Edgar still in the same position. Felt around the room, found a chair, lifted and placed it as silently as he could. Close by, out of the way of the light.

This would be temporary, this light wouldn't last forever, so he'd have to work quickly. But that's what his art was or used to be about sometimes.

Making something temporary into something permanent.

Edgar snorted again, loud and then mumbled something, but didn't move. Johnny watched to make sure, and then he let his hand move lightly across the lined paper.

It wouldn't be forever, but this would last.


End file.
